


Finding it Hard to Believe (We're in Heaven)

by kelios



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, Heaven, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:23:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28942905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelios/pseuds/kelios
Summary: Of all the places they could go, all the memories they could revisit, Sam chooses the one that still hurts the most.
Relationships: Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester, Sam/Dean, Wincest
Comments: 3
Kudos: 186





	Finding it Hard to Believe (We're in Heaven)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to @firesign10 for reading through this for me.

"Do I have to spell it out for you?" he asks, jagged and harsh. Trying for a sneer and failing, words bouncing off Dean without effect because Sam had said--he'd promised--none of this made any _sense_. "I knew if I told you you'd stop me."

Dean's knuckles sting, sudden and sharp, surprising them both because Dean is violence, Dean is rage and fury and vengeance-- but not toward Sam. Sam stands, wipes his mouth and stares, mud smeared across his cheek and his jaw, red and white and gray in the moonlight and Dean's ready, he thinks. 

He's not.

He's not ready for the taste of iron and dirt, not ready for the taste of salt or the wetness on his cheeks. Not ready to be cut open on Sam's mouth or to swallow the sounds Sam makes, that sound like words and go down like broken glass _i'm sorry i'm sorry dont hate me_ , sounds pushed down his throat until all he can taste is blood and heat and want. 

He's not ready and then it's gone, everything he’d ever loved or wanted, the only sign Dean ever had a brother the scuff on the road, the taste of iron and dirt in his mouth, the ache in his chest where his heart used to be.

“This is a good memory for you?” Dean asks, voice low and hurt. He doesn’t look at Sam, can’t. “This is where you wanted to be?”

“No,” Sam says, just as quiet. “But I needed you to know.” He’s still wearing the clothes he’d had on during that hunt, the woman in white, right after Dean had come for him at Stanford. Dean had seen that, on the bridge, and he’d thought--well. He didn’t know what he’d thought, but given that this is supposed to be heaven he’d _hoped_... 

“I got the message back then, Sam.” He looks up at his brother, not so little anymore, and puts fifteen years of practice to good use repressing the small thrill that goes through him at the thought. “You didn't want us. Me. You wanted normal, and you left to get it. What was not to get? It’s water under the bridge now.” 

Dean smiles, a real smile, because it’s true. This is an old pain, mostly blunted by time, just a few jagged edges that crop up here and there, longing for something he can never have that never really goes away. “There’s nothing left to forgive, not here.” He hesitates, looking up at Sam again with uncertainty. "Not for me, anyway."

“It took me awhile to figure it out,” Sam says quietly, "but eventually I realized you really didn't understand what I was trying to say." He turns to Dean, those damn puppy eyes in full force. “So I asked to come here so I could tell you again.”

It’s deja vu all over again, Sam’s mouth on his, Sam’s hands on his cheeks. Bigger now, all of him, and gentle. No taste of iron this time, and Dean’s lips part on instinct, confusion giving way to desire giving way to need, so long suppressed. _Maybe this is heaven after all,_ Dean thinks dazedly when Sam touches his forehead to Dean’s. His hands have found Sam’s hips, fit there naturally as though they belonged there.

“I left because I was afraid,” Sam says quietly. “Afraid you’d hate me, afraid you’d push me away. I never wanted to leave you behind forever. I just needed to forget.” He closes his eyes, lashes brushing Dean’s cheeks. “But I never could. I never would have turned you away, Dean. Never. If you’d knocked on my door I would have opened it. I would have asked you to stay. I would have--”

This time it’s Dean who kisses Sam, calming the flood of words the best way he knows how. Dean’s never been great with words, prefers to use his hands and his body and Sam knows that. May have been counting on it, in fact, because the sound he makes as he licks into Dean’s mouth is hungry, desperate. Years of waiting, years of wanting, and now that they’re finally on the same page neither of them want to waste another minute. 

“Car,” Dean pants. It hurts to turn away from Sam’s mouth, the taste and feel of him, but the thought of getting Sam out of these damned layers, of getting his hands and his mouth on all that smooth, golden skin that he’s dreamed about for years makes the pang of separation bearable. Sam nods, following Dean to the backseat. 

“I used to dream about this,” he whispers as Dean opens the door. “Wished I was one of your girls, pretended I was sometimes when you and Dad weren’t around--”

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean groans. He drops onto the leather bench seat, eyes level with Sam’s waist and the very impressive bulge hidden behind his baggy jeans. His mouth waters as he thinks about how Sam will feel in his mouth, how he’ll taste. He can already smell Sam’s arousal and he leans forward on instinct, eager to get his hands and his mouth on Sam’s dick for the first time. The sound Sam makes when Dean gets his jeans open spurs him on, low and rough and needy, heat pooling low inside him as gets a hand around Sam and licks over the leaking head. Sam bucks in his grip, precome dripping over Dean’s fist to land in the dust between them. Dean looks up and nearly comes right then, the wild light in Sam’s eyes and his white knuckled grip on the Impala’s frame almost enough to send him over. 

“Dean...please. I want--” He shudders, throat working around a bitten off plea, but Dean gets it. 

“Yeah, Sammy,” he breathes, his whole body lit up with need. “Me too.” He lets go of Sam reluctantly to strip off his shirts, shove down his jeans--and if he’d had any doubts that this is heaven they’d be gone, because his arms don’t tangle in his shirts, his jeans don’t tangle on his boots, and when Sam pushes him back on to the warm leather of his baby’s back seat there’s a bottle of lube ready to hand in the floorboard. 

Sam must notice the same things, because he huffs out a laugh when Dean pushes the bottle into his hands. “I feel a little weird praying to our son to thank him for making sex easier,” he says. “But maybe we ought to…”

“Later,” Dean pants, then moans as Sam pushes two slick fingers into him. There’s no pain, no sting, no burn--it just feels fucking amazing. “Fuck, Sammy--” 

“God, your so--” Sam kisses him, mumbling against Dean’s lips, his throat, his chest. “So open, so ready for me--” And then he’s pushing in, long slow glide that doesn’t stop until he’s flush with Dean’s body, until they’re as close as they can be. 

“Move, Sam, come on--” Dean urges, because as good as it feels just holding Sam inside himself he still needs _more_. “Come on, man, I need--”

Sam doesn’t make him wait, pulls almost all the way out and slams back in, both of them seeing stars. No pain, no need for Dean to adjust, just the pure bliss of being filled and surrounded by _Sam_. Dean’s fingers dig into Sam’s shoulders with every thrust, his legs wrapped tight around Sam’s waist as they move together. Neither of them lasts long, too many years of pent up need and want, but it’s still perfect, exactly what they both want, Sam’s first hot pulse inside Dean timed perfectly with the supernova behind Dean’s eyes as he comes so hard the world goes white. 

Sam’s still inside him when Dean opens his eyes again, mouth moving slow and hot against Dean’s throat as he rolls his hips in slow, steady nudges that hit Dean's sweet spot just right, sending sparks flaring up and down every nerve ending. 

“You know...here in this place, we’re not really flesh and blood,” Sam says reflectively, nosing the soft hairs at Dean’s temple. “This, right here--this is our souls touching.” 

Dean’s breath catches as Sam moves inside him just right, his cock already starting to fill again. Apparently heaven’s got it’s own ideas on refractory periods too. “S-Soulmates,” Dean stutters, arching up against Sam. 

“The same soul in two bodies, and--and now we're together,” Sam agrees, breath coming shorter, faster. Dean can see Sam’s pulse in his throat, hummingbird fast as Sam’s hips speed up. 

“Dean--” 

It’s like falling apart, being remade, everything in his life finally making sense. Dean looks up at Sam, both of them trembling, and thinks, _Heaven_.


End file.
